Without memorial
but not without
memory.
One of few fortress branches
in this bloodline tree.
Seep your strength into my roots.
if only we could have spoken as girls.
I long to see you flirt and cry.
Instead you were the matriarch,
sassing, winking and stoic.
Dropping ice cubes into your chardonnay.
If only we were young together,
we metropolitan women.
You New York furniture buyer,
and I San Francisco book publisher.
Baking your Swedish lace cookies,
and shocking you with my tattoos.
Someday we'll be together,
city girls on clean cobblestone streets.
No comments:
Post a Comment